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"Ugh, I hate everything," Stiles groans before he is even completely inside Derek's apartment. He slams the door closed behind himself, drops his backpack on the floor and stomps to the couch, diving headfirst into it and muffling another groan into one of the throw pillows. "Fucking teachers, seriously."
Derek puts his glass of milk down on the kitchen counter and presses his lips together, not wanting to laugh when Stiles is in a bad mood. It's times like these when he's reminded that he's actually dating a high school kid. It used to drive him into endless hours of doubt and self-loathing but he eventually got over it. Mostly. He still questions his life choices almost daily. Still, it's fucking bizarre to hear someone moan about teachers and homework when Derek himself has almost forgotten what that was like. Actually, he's forgotten most of what happened in high school. Apart from the obvious, scarred-for-life parts. "What happened?" he asks. "You're two hours late. I thought you were coming here straight from school."
"I did," Stiles sighs into the pillows. "The new English substitute has it out for me. She hates my guts."
"Detention?" Derek asks, taking the few steps from his small kitchenette to the living room, and leans over the back of the couch so that he can actually see Stiles properly.
"Detention," Stiles moans. "Ugh. We're so close to graduating and she gives me detention."
"Cruel," Derek says.
Stiles lifts his head to shoot a glare at Derek. "Some sympathy would be nice, asshole," he says. "I don't know why I was expected anything like that from you, though. You're never nice to me when I want you to be."
Derek doesn't even have to listen to Stiles' heartbeat to know that is a lie. "If there's a way I can help you take your mind off of school, let me know," he says and doesn't try to hide his smirk anymore.
"Oh," Stiles says, suddenly perking up. "Oh! Yessss," he says, rolling onto his back and grabbing the front of Derek's t-shirt. "Come here," he says, pulling Derek down to a kiss, pushing up to meet him halfway. His mouth is warm and sweet and familiar on Derek, the kiss deep but soft, almost languid.
"Happy birthday," Derek mutters against Stiles' mouth.
Stiles pauses and draws back to blink at Derek. "Oh, yeah, it's my birthday," he says, leaning back in, and Derek can feel his smile against his lips. "I actually forgot it was my birthday for a while there. Stupid detention. On my birthday!"
"Your eighteenth birthday," Derek says.
"Yeah, so I'm basically an adult now - well, an adult who still can't drink his worries away, it's ridiculous - so giving me detention for having opinions, really, she's the worst. I can do adult things like buy cigarettes now. And vote!"
"Among other things," Derek says and kisses Stiles again.
"Among..." Stiles says, frowning up at Derek in confusion when he pulls back. Then his eyes widen. "Holy shit, I'm eighteen."
"Yup," Derek grins.
"Eighteen years old."
"Yeah."
"Adult in the eyes of Californian law."
"Yeah."
"Which means the end to the longest seven months of my life."
"Yes."
"The end to the stupidest rule you ever came up with. The end to the most ridiculous seven months of sexual frustration and getting pained glances from everyone around us. Oh my god, do you want to?"
Derek rolls his eyes. "You're not the only one who has been counting the days."
"Can we have sex now, like right now?"
"I was kind of planning on it," Derek says and lets Stiles pull him over the back of the couch and into his lap. "If you want to."
"Hell, yes. Yes!" Stiles says and pulls him into a kiss. It's deeper and more urgent than the earlier ones. Stiles is pressing into him, his tongue pushing insistently at the seam of Derek's lips until he parts them and lets Stiles set the pace. Derek falls into it like he always does, forgetting about everything else than Stiles, the press of their bodies and the feel of Stiles' hot mouth on him, his warm skin under his hands. It's something he hasn't yet learned to control, the way Stiles' kisses always make him lose track of everything else.
"I have thought about this a lot," Stiles mutters against his mouth, his fingers tugging at Derek's belt buckle. "A lot. I had detailed plans and everything."
"Oh?" Derek asks, slipping his hands under Stiles' shirt and dragging them up Stiles' back. Stiles' skin is mostly smooth, but he finds the scars there, under his left shoulder blade, and presses the pads of his fingers along the four jagged lines of them. Stiles calls them battle scars and won't hide them, wears them like a badge of honor. But Derek hates them, wishes there was a way to make them disappear. They mock him, remind him of all the ways he should have been quicker, should have trusted sooner, should have been there, should have, should have.
"Yeah," Stiles sighs. "I can't remember what any of those plans were now, though."
Derek lets his hand drop from under Stiles' shirt and presses closer to Stiles instead, mouthing at his neck. "What do you want to do?" he asks, even if he hopes Stiles will let him decide, this time. He has plans.
"Everything," Stiles breathes out. "Anything. I don't know. What do you want to do?"
Derek slides his lips over Stiles' skin, over his cheek, kissing the little moles there on his way to Stiles' ear. "I want you to fuck me," he says, dragging his teeth over Stiles' earlobe and down his neck, enjoying the way it makes Stiles shiver all over.
"Oh, shit. Really? I mean... Really?" Stiles says and Derek rolls his eyes, but doesn't stop sucking on Stiles' collar bone.
"Yes, really," he says. The sudden hesitation he can feel coming from Stiles makes him pause, though. "Unless you don't want to... You don't have to if you don't--"
"No! No, no, I... Uh, I mean, yes, fuck. I," Stiles stutters and flails and it makes Derek relax again.
"Wow," he says, leaning back to take a look at Stiles. "I made you speechless."
"Shut up," Stiles says, a blotchy red blush spreading over his cheeks.
"No, wait a minute, I need to go mark this in my calendar. This day should be remembered."
"Fuck you," Stiles groans, grasping fistfuls of Derek's shirt. "And don't move. I'm processing."
Derek brushes his hands over Stiles' shoulders, up his neck and over his cheeks, gives him a moment to breathe. Then he grins. "Process this: I have a bed and it's about five feet behind you. I'm not doing this on the couch that all our friends use regularly."
"Super powered friends, even," Stiles agrees, relaxes his hold on Derek and lets himself be pulled up from the couch. "Who smell things. And give me disapproving and betrayed looks. Like it's my fault they can't keep their noses to themselves."
Derek doesn't let go of Stiles' hand when he is up, just leads him to the bed, sits down on the edge and pulls Stiles to him, burying his nose in the soft cotton of Stiles' shirt. Stiles' heartbeat is rapid but it calms Derek down, focuses him better than almost anything else. It still terrifies him that Stiles manages to do that to him.
Stiles lets out a short laugh and cards his fingers through Derek's hair.
"What?" Derek asks, not looking up at Stiles but taking a deep breath instead, smelling Stiles' nerves and arousal and underneath them, the warm scent of him. It's always been an issue, how much he likes Stiles' scent. Even before he had any right to it.
"Nothing. I just," Stiles says, his fingernails scratching at Derek's scalp. "I just thought this would be different, when you finally wanted to... I thought it would be a lot more tearing each other’s clothes off type of thing."
"Disappointed?" Derek asks, and finally moves away from Stiles' warmth, but just far enough so that he can start unbuttoning Stiles' jeans. "And it wasn't about me not wanting to. I've wanted to do this for... I can't even remember for how long."
"And I've wanted you since we met, probably. Jesus, why did we have to wait? The age thing is completely arbitrary, you know. It's freaking different in every state."
"I know," Derek says. "It wasn't really about the age thing." He finally manages to pop the last button and pushes Stiles' jeans down, watches as he steps out of them and then just presses his mouth over Stiles' underwear, where he's already half hard.
"Oh," Stiles says, breathless. Derek presses his tongue against the outline of Stiles' dick, wetting the cotton between them so that he can almost taste Stiles through it, and listens how his breath catches. "Are you going to?" Stiles asks. His fingers in Derek's hair grab a little tighter when Derek nods.
Derek drags Stiles' underwear out of the way and presses his nose in to the coarse hairs at the base of his dick while Stiles tries to squirm so that he can get his boxers from around his ankles without dislodging Derek. He's swearing from under his breath and it makes Derek smile. He mouths at the length of Stiles' dick and Stiles immediately stops squirming. Stops breathing too.
"Breathe, Stiles," Derek mutters and presses his tongue against Stiles' dick, feels the weight of it.
"Oh my god," Stiles chokes out. His hands fall away from Derek's hair, but settle on his shoulders instead, like Stiles needs the support. He's taking big, deliberate lungfuls of air now and Derek can hear his heart hammering in his chest. Derek has to bite his lip so that he won't smile, so that he can open his mouth and take Stiles in instead.
Derek has always liked giving head, even back when he was mostly doing it to strangers in the bathrooms of New York clubs. His sharp senses make it easy when he can taste and smell and feel the other person. He can focus on them, read them, know that he's making them feel good.
It's different with Stiles, though. It's so much better. It's intoxicating. All the other times don't even compare, can't even be talked about in the same context. These are not new tastes or new smells, he's familiar with them, even though not in this way, not this heady a mix. But they are something he's slowly gotten addicted to, over months of constant exposure. It's a mix of calming sense of home and something that makes him crazy. It's Stiles, who makes him lose his mind.
The fact that he's in love with Stiles makes itself known again, hits him like a fist to the face, like it does most days, like it's been doing most days for months now.
He's glad he waited.
"Derek, Derek, stop," Stiles says, his fingers digging painfully into Derek's shoulders. Derek pulls away to drag his teeth over Stiles' hip bone. Then he looks up at Stiles, at his flushed face and glassy eyes and grins smugly up at him.
"Shut up, asshole. I almost came and we were talking about something else happening, weren't we? Also, you are still wearing all your clothes. I don't see how that's fair."
"Why don't you do something about it then?" Derek asks, raising an eyebrow and Stiles attacks him, basically rips his shirt off of him. It catches on his nose on the way over his head and makes him snort out a laugh.
"Don't laugh at me," Stiles says. "You signed up for this when you agreed to date me."
"I'm not laughing at you," Derek says and smiles up at Stiles, whose scowl melts away when their eyes meet. Then Stiles is smiling back at him and Derek thinks he's happy. And isn't that the surprise of the year?
"Come here," he says and pulls Stiles into a kiss. It's soft and nice and they are both still smiling.
"This is a weird time to have a moment," Stiles says against Derek's lips. "This is totally a moment, right?"
"Yes, Stiles," Derek says. "And you're ruining it."
"You love it," Stiles says. "You secretly like that I balance all your sappy romanticism with my moment ruining ways."
Derek wonders if he should tell Stiles, if he should say it out loud, finally. But he doesn't. It doesn't feel like the right time, and maybe it is sappy, but he wants it to be perfect. To his (admittedly limited) experience just before sex is just slightly better than during sex, so he keeps his mouth shut and tilts his head up while Stiles presses a trail of kisses over his throat.
Derek pulls himself further on the bed, lies down and lets Stiles climb over him. Stiles' mouth doesn't leave Derek's skin and he tries to remember why he ever thought tight jeans were a good sartorial decision. He gets as far as opening his belt before Stiles realizes what he's doing and slaps his hands away.
"Nope, sorry, I'll do that, thanks," Stiles says all in one go, dragging the zipper of Derek's jeans down carefully. Derek can feel Stiles' hands shaking a little, restless on the fly of his jeans.
"Don't be nervous," Derek says and takes a hold of Stiles' hands, pulls them up to his lips so that he can kiss the pads of his fingers. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."
"I'm not nervous," Stiles scoffs, but Derek just has to raise an eyebrow and he deflates. "Yeah, okay, you can probably hear my stupid heart beat. But I'm allowed to be nervous. I've never done this before."
"I know," Derek says and watches Stiles' fingers instead of his eyes. Stiles has very nice hands, long fingers with knobbly joints. Stiles bites his fingernails, which isn't surprising considering his very obvious oral fixation. Derek is very aware of that little quirk. He takes Stiles' right hand and sucks a finger into his mouth. It's a little bit like payback for all the drinks with straws he has watched Stiles drink.
"Oh my god, Derek," Stiles says and boldly pushes another finger into Derek's mouth. Derek sucks on them and then scratches his teeth against them, feels them twitch against his tongue. Stiles babbles. "Okay, okay, I want to do this. Right now, I want to fuck you, jesus christ. This is so obscene. Get your stupid jeans off."
Derek lets go of Stiles and takes his stupid jeans off. He takes his stupid underwear off too, kicks them out of the way quickly so that he can press his whole body against Stiles, so that he can finally feel all that warm skin. He spreads his legs, letting Stiles slot between them, and pushes up into another kiss.
"You really want me to do this?" Stiles asks between short kisses.
"Yes," Derek says and kisses Stiles again. "There's a bottle of lube under the bed."
"You say the nicest things," Stiles says and Derek smacks him on the back of his head, which only makes him laugh.
Stiles leans over the edge to hunt for the lube, his ass in the air. "This is so much more undignified than I ever imagined," he says when Derek laughs. "Yessss," he crows, coming up with the lube, his face red both from embarrassment and from hanging upside down. He hands the lube to Derek.
"Give me your hand," Derek says and squeezes some lube on Stiles' fingers when he does. He has to bite his lip so that he won't let out a whine just from the idea of them in him. He spreads his legs again for Stiles, watches how Stiles looks at him, eyes wide and pupils blown, how he licks his lips.
Stiles has gone quiet, serious. "Tell me if I'm hurting you," he says, one slicked finger circling Derek's hole. "Or if I'm doing something you don't like." He pushes the tip of the finger tentatively in. "Or if I'm doing this wrong."
Derek struggles to breathe normally.
"I know that look," Stiles says. "You're going to say that it doesn't matter, that you'll heal or some bullshit like that." He presses the finger further in and Derek moans, can't help it. He hasn't done this in a while, in years, actually. It almost feels like he has never done it before. "I don't want it to... I mean, yeah, maybe it'll hurt a bit, but it’s not supposed to be about... oh my god," Stiles says, interrupts himself when Derek presses down until Stiles' finger is in him to the knuckle.
"More lube," Derek says and chucks the bottle at Stiles. "And a second finger."
Stiles tries to glare at him, but his eyes are glassy and his mouth has dropped open. "You're bossy," he mumbles, but there are two fingers pushing into him now, slowly, carefully. It feels good, the slow, slow stretch.
"I'm impatient," Derek says, gasps when Stiles moves his fingers experimentally.
"Yeah," Stiles says and leans down, over him, to kiss him softly on the mouth. Derek sinks into it, relaxes a little bit more.
"About our earlier conversation," Stiles says, mouthing at the curve of Derek's jaw. Derek can't remember what they had been talking about. "I'm not disappointed in how things are going. At all." His fingers push deeper into him. "This isn't anything like I thought it would be. This is perfect. You're perfect."
Derek chokes out a laugh and squeezes his eyes shut, tilts his chin up so that Stiles can suck at his throat. Stiles' teeth scrape over his Adam's apple, making him hum in contentment.
"Third finger," Derek says. His fingers are carding through Stiles' hair and he tugs gently at the short strands. Stiles bites his collar bone for it.
"I feel like I'm going to die," Stiles says when he pushes the third finger in.
"Guess how I feel," Derek says. He could easily come like this, just Stiles' fingers in him. He's so hard it almost hurts, would probably come if he wasn't actively trying not to.
"Is it really... Does it really feel that good?" Stiles asks.
Derek opens his eyes to look at Stiles, whose eyes are wide, wondering. "It feels amazing," he says. "You're amazing," he says and watches how Stiles' cheeks go pink with his words.
"Sex makes Derek Hale chatty," Stiles snorts, trying to cover up his embarrassment. "Who would have known?"
"I talk all the time," Derek says.
"Yeah, but you never say things like that to me."
"Like what?"
"That I'm... amazing or whatever."
"Do you want me to?"
Stiles chuckles. "As much as it would stroke my ego, I don't want you to hurt yourself. I guess... I guess it's more in the way you do things anyway."
"Way I do things?"
"You... you listen to me. You pay attention. You always pay attention." Stiles pulls his fingers almost all the way out and then pushes back in.
"It's not like I have a choice," Derek says, gasps when Stiles starts a slow rhythm. "You kind of demand attention."
Stiles snorts and mumbles "Idiot," into Derek's skin. He can feel his orgasm start to build and Stiles hasn't even touched his dick yet.
"Shit, Stiles, stop, stop," Derek says when Stiles changes angle, probably by accident, and suddenly everything intensifies. His whole body trembles with it.
Stiles stops immediately and lifts his eyes to Derek's face, looking worried and scattered. "What? What? Did I hurt you? Are you okay?" he squeaks.
"Yeah, no, I mean," Derek says and then concentrates only on breathing for a second. "I just didn't want to come yet," he says when Stiles starts looking harrowed, almost panicky.
All the tension leaks out of Stiles instantly. "Oh my god," he says, presses his nose against Derek's knee, and laughs.
Derek closes his eyes and grins, enjoying the warm puffs of Stiles' laughter against his skin.
"I'm ready now," Derek says when the laughter has tapered out.
"Oh," Stiles says, his fingers tightening their hold on Derek's hip. "You still want to? Even after that little mood-killing freak out?"
Derek rolls his eyes. He hasn't been able to shift his focus away from Stiles from the moment he stepped into Derek's apartment. Everything in him is coiled with anticipation, he's shivering when Stiles' skin slides against his and still Stiles thinks he can somehow fuck this up? So he rolls his eyes and pulls Stiles up into an open-mouthed, filthy kiss and tries to think of a way to tell Stiles what he does to Derek. He can't quite come up with the right words, so he rolls his hips against Stiles' and moans into the kiss when he finally gets some god damn friction against his cock. "There," he says and sucks another mark on Stiles' neck, making Stiles whine and clutch at his shoulders. "I fixed it."
Stiles snorts against Derek's cheek, which shouldn't be sexy at all but totally does something for Derek. "Dude," Stiles says. "Stop trying to make me laugh. This is a serious matter."
"If you ever call me dude again during sex, I will kick your ass out of bed," Derek answers.
"Empty threats, Hale," Stiles says and rolls their hips together, making Derek's breath catch in his throat. He looks at Derek with a smug grin on his face, all the nerves from before completely forgotten.
"Shut up and just fuck me already," Derek says and Stiles laughs again.
"Okay, okay," Stiles says, grinning. "Condoms?"
"Bedside table," Derek says.
Stiles shifts on top of him, reaching out towards the table and Derek watches the curve of his neck and the shift of muscle in his shoulders. There are faint, pinprick scars on his left shoulder where Peter had gripped him with his claws, months and months ago. Derek attaches his mouth there, licks over them and wishes them away. Then Stiles is back with the condom, shifting so that their cocks press together and Derek forgets about the scars.
"Come on, come on," he says and watches Stiles fumble with the condom.
"Yeah, yeah," Stiles says and drops the condom on Derek's stomach. "Fuck."
"Give it here," Derek says and grabs it, tears the package open and reaches for Stiles. He strokes Stiles' cock once with a dry hand, just to feel the soft skin, just to feel how hard Stiles is, and listens to the soft whine Stiles lets out. The he rolls the condom on carefully.
Stiles has his bottom lip between his teeth and he looks so focused, so determined while he very carefully pushes into Derek that Derek almost laughs. He doesn't have any breath left for it though. He has forgotten how to make his lungs work properly.
"Slowly," Derek says, staring down between them where Stiles is pushing into him. "Just... Stiles," he says, clasping one hand behind Stiles' neck, steadying him.
"Shit," Stiles says and then doesn't say anything else until he's completely in. Then Stiles says: "Derek, you feel..."
He says: "You're amazing."
He says: "Derek, how am I supposed to move, oh my god, this is."
Derek says: "Move, Stiles. I need you to move."
And Stiles does, fucks into him with slow, experimental thrusts. And it’s... it’s okay and slowly getting towards being really good, but what Derek can’t really get enough of is the feel of Stiles' skin dragging against him, his weight on top of him, his heat warming Derek all the way to the bone. He smells like want and nerves and just like himself, all the smells Derek has come to associate him with. Derek drags his nose over Stiles’ skin and inhales and Stiles gasps out a laugh. He’s panting and so quiet Derek is actually a little worried.
“Are you...” Derek says and slides a hand over Stiles' back. “You’re being really quiet.”
“I’m concentrating,” Stiles says, leaning down to bite at Derek’s chest. Derek lets out a surprised whine and Stiles’ hips stutter in their rhythm. “Oh my god,” he says. “The noises you make. Oh god.”
“You can fuck me harder now,” Derek says and Stiles groans, pressing his face into Derek’s chest, but he keeps fucking Derek with shallow little thrusts.
“Very sexually frustrated virgin here,” Stiles mutters against Derek’s skin. “I’m going to come in like two seconds if you keep saying things like that.”
Derek laughs. “Don’t come yet,” he says and cards his fingers through Stiles’s hair. “I will mock you forever if you do. I will come up with embarrassing nicknames and introduce you to people with them.”
“You wouldn’t,” Stiles laughs. “Oh god, you are such an asshole.”
Derek drags him up to a kiss, as thorough as he can muster right then while Stiles is still laughing a little. “Just fucking move, Stiles,” he says.
“Okay, okay,” Stiles says and thrusts into him and yes. Derek drops his head back on to the pillows and groans.
“Yes, like that.”
Stiles gains more confidence quickly after that until Derek's whining with every thrust, completely unashamed by the noises he's making.
"Derek you feel so--" Stiles says.
"If you say tight, I will bite you," Derek gasps out and digs his fingers harder into Stiles' skin.
Stiles chokes out a short laugh and thrusts back in. "Your threats," he pants out, "are getting worse and worse."
"Why bother?" Derek asks. "It's not like you're afraid of me."
"Shut up," Stiles laughs. "Concentrate. We're doing something here."
"Harder," Derek says. "Stiles."
And Stiles does what Derek asks. Derek trips out of his thoughts, pants and gasps and keens for it. He can't think, doesn't even want to think, just feels Stiles in him, smells him all around him. He gets one hand around his cock and strokes himself until he's coming, both too soon and finally.
Stiles' rhythm stutters only for a second and then his pace picks up again. Derek's spine feels like it's liquid and Stiles is still fucking into him and it's perfect. "Come on," he mutters and reaches out for Stiles, locks his fingers behind Stiles' neck.
Stiles thrusts deep into him and then he's coming with a soft "Oh." Quietly, his eyes fluttering closed.
Stiles collapses on him, sweaty and shuddering. "That was," he pants, trying to get his breathing under control. "That was amazing. Wow. I... That actually happened."
Derek hums his agreement and slides a hand down Stiles' spine, breathing him in.
"I can't believe I lasted that long," Stiles says.
Derek’s laugh turns into a grunt when Stiles pulls out.
“I didn’t hurt you or anything? You’re okay?” Stiles asks, his finger skirting over Derek’s hole, jolting a flash of not-quite-pain up his spine. He’s oversensitive and aching, but it’s a good ache, something he has kind of missed. The tip of Stiles’ finger slips in and, oh. Maybe they can go again in a minute.
“Ew,” Stiles says. “Everything is sticky.” He pulls the condom off and looks around for a place to put it but then shrugs and just drops it on the floor next to the bed.
“How long do you think, before we can go again?” Derek asks and watches with great satisfaction how Stiles almost swallows his tongue.
“Give me ten minutes,” Stiles says when he’s stopped coughing. Derek grabs his wrist, bringing his hand back between his legs, guiding it until Stiles gets it and pushes a finger into Derek. “Okay, maybe five,” he chokes out when Derek lets out a moan.
*
Derek wakes up with Stiles partly draped over him, his face tugged into Derek’s neck. For a moment he just lies there, enjoying the way Stiles’ bare skin feels, how good it feels to have him there. He extricates himself slowly, trying not to wake Stiles up. Stiles just turns around, smacks his lips and goes back to sleep.
Derek gets up to make breakfast. He’s going to do this properly, as well as he possibly can. He will make Stiles breakfast, give him a good morning kiss and somehow let him get out of the door and to school on time.
There are seven messages in Stiles’ phone and one in his when he checks. He’s debating whether or not to read the message in his phone from Stiles’ dad, but that’s when Stiles stirs and groans, running a hand over his face.
Derek watches as Stiles stumbles out of bed, his eyes still mostly closed, and pulls a pair of underwear on that Derek thinks is actually his and not Stiles'. There are purple bruises all over his neck and shoulders and chest. Those are the good marks, Derek thinks. The proper ones. The only ones Stiles should carry on his skin. They will fade quickly and completely and then Derek can put them back there, over and over again if Stiles doesn't get too pissed off about them.
He watches Stiles while he sleepwalks to the dresser and puts on one of Derek's shirts, an old one which has magically managed to stay clean of blood stains and claw rips and has reached that slightly translucent softness that old t-shirts do when they don't die before their time.
Stiles' bedhead has magical gravity defying properties. Derek sips his coffee and watches Stiles make his way into the kitchenette. He moves his coffee cup out of the way when Stiles just continues walking until he's plastered all over Derek's front, his forehead resting on Derek's shoulder.
"Good morning," Derek says.
"Ugh," Stiles answers. "Coffee, please."
And it's the perfect time, Derek realizes. His muscles still ache pleasantly from last night, everything is warm, so warm around him, and Stiles still looks at him exactly like he looked at him yesterday. It's just... right. "I love you," he says and feels Stiles pause, go completely still against him for a second. Then he's relaxing again, one of his arms winding around Derek's waist.
"I love you too," Stiles says against Derek's neck, just like that. Like it's easy. Nothing in him gives away his nerves apart from how his heart has started to beat slightly faster. Derek had thought there would be deflection. Jokes. Maybe saying it without actually saying the words. Maybe just a kiss and a thank you. It feels like he's going to burst. "Now where's my damn coffee, dude?" Stiles says, his fingers digging into Derek's sides.
Derek muffles his laughter into Stiles' shoulder.